


i will hold on hope

by AliuIce0814



Series: cough syrup [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide, background angels in the outfield, background bruce/tony?, background clint/natasha - Freeform, background natasha/thor?, everyone's worried about bruce, revenge of the asthma, steve is everyone's mom and likes to cook, the avengers are not a statistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliuIce0814/pseuds/AliuIce0814
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The news was always horrible, but tonight it hit the Avengers especially hard. Bruce wasn't the only one of them who suffered, but he was the one they thought of first.</p><p>Steve did his best to hold his team together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. find strength in pain

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for suicide, suicidal ideation, and panic attacks/anxiety disorders.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can’t kill me. I know. I tried.

                The news flashed some statistic about how many thousands died at their own hands in a year. Everyone went silent, not just in speech but in motion. Steve’s pencil slipped from between his numb fingers and clattered to the floor, leaving a scratch mark across his half-finished sketch of Thor and Natasha. He didn’t bend to pick it up.

            They watched the entire news clip, Steve, Natasha, Thor, and Tony. Tony’s dark eyes reflected blue light from the television. Thor slipped an arm around Natasha’s shoulders; instead of pushing him away, as she usually would have, she curled into the touch.

            Steve knew they were all thinking of the same thing: Bruce on the Helicarrier, backed into a corner, wild-eyed and desperate. _You can’t kill me. I know. I tried._ He’d seen Bruce like that in January, too, when Tony called him from Japan in a panic. _Bruce is sick, he’s panicking, he’s going to—fuck, if he kills himself, I—get home, Rogers. Get home._

Bruce had been so sick and frightened when Steve found him in the wreck of the lab that day that Steve hadn’t been sure he’d ever recover. He held him while he shook through a panic attack and kept guard while he slept until the others came. He’d never seen Bruce so fragile.

            The hours in which Steve had been alone in the quiet had been the worst hours since he’d woken up from the ice. He could fight men who were monsters, but what was he supposed to do with a monster who was a man? Steve knew he hadn’t done much. He didn’t think he had the power to save Bruce. Doctors were better than they’d been in the 30s and 40s, better by far, but Steve still didn’t trust them not to put Bruce in a cage.

Laughter echoed up the elevator shaft. Steve launched for the remote, but Tony beat him to it. “JARVIS, _Casablanca._ Now.”

            Just as Clint and Bruce stepped off the elevator, the movie popped up in the place they’d left off the night before. Clint was still laughing, one arm slung around Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce grinned and ducked his head in that shy way of his. “You started the movie without us?” he protested gently.

            Thor started to answer him. Tony clattered to his feet. The look Tony gave Bruce was absolutely wrecked. For once in his life, Tony Stark didn’t say anything. He pushed his way past Bruce and Clint to the elevator. Bruce started after him, only stopping when the elevator door shut before he could reach it. “Tony? What…” He turned to look at the rest of them, frowning. Steve tried to keep his expression neutral, the way Natasha did, but Thor looked near tears. His hands clenched into fists.

            Clint tilted his head. “What is it?” Perceptive as always, he went straight to Natasha and crouched beside her. “Tasha?”

            “JARVIS.” Bruce glanced up toward the ceiling the way they all did when they spoke to the AI. “Switch channels to whatever they were watching before.”

            “Bruce—” Steve started, but he didn’t know how he would finish the sentence. He prayed that the news had moved on to Syria or Palestine—anything but the piece they’d been watching. Anything.

            _“—message shouldn’t be one of despair. My brother might have killed himself, but you don’t have to.”_ The woman on-screen scrubbed her face. _“If something feels wrong, call the suicide hotline. Call someone who cares. Don’t do something that will hurt you and everyone around you.”_

Bruce went still. Steve watched his muscles ripple beneath his button-down shirt, then stop, then move again. The Hulk was just below the surface of Bruce, feeling threatened. Backed into a corner. When Thor reached for Bruce’s wrist, Bruce jerked away, a snarl on his lips. Steve’s heart jumped to his throat. He thought of the way the lab had been destroyed just a few months before. _Not again. Not again, Bruce. C’mon._ Natasha shrank against Thor before she forced herself to sit up straight again. “Friend Bruce,” Thor said softly. His hand lingered just out of Bruce’s reach. “Please.”

            Bruce’s face was tight. “Lab,” he said. Steve hoped it was an indication of where he went when he sprinted for the staircase. It was ten flights up to Bruce’s lab.

            None of them followed him.


	2. despite my growing fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Other than Bruce," Clint said. "Who else here has tried?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same triggers as whole work.

          They didn’t finish _Casablanca_ that night. Steve put on _Angels in the Outfield_ while he cooked dinner—soda bread and beef stew because Mama had fed it to him so many times that he could make it in his sleep—and ignored Clint when he complained about the movie’s inaccuracies. Clint’s complaints filled the space where Tony’s snark should have been. Steve’s beef and bread filled the kitchen where Bruce’s chicken curry should have been.

Steve leaned against the counter while everything cooked. His chest felt tight. He knew that his asthma couldn’t be back while he had Erskine’s formula in him, but his chest still hurt. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly and carefully, in and out. The muscles between his ribs burned in a way they hadn’t since he was a kid. _I got low. I couldn’t see an end, so I put a bullet in my mouth, and the Other Guy spit it out._

Steve had put bullets through Nazis' heads. He knew what it looked like when a man died: the recoil, the neat hole, the blood and brains. His chest tightened more when he thought of Bruce not breathing or smiling or cooking or—

            Steve’s next breath came out as a wheeze.

            When the oven timer beeped, Thor looked up from the television. “I’ll fetch Tony and Bruce.”

            “Don’t.” Natasha barely lifted her head from where she rested it against Clint’s shoulder. “Stark’s not going to move. He’ll sulk up there for the next three days.”

            “He shouldn’t. And Bruce…Bruce is our friend. He is a good man. We cannot just—”

            “—you’d rather set him off—?”

            “He is alone and frightened. If we pity him, we should not—”

            “We’ll eat dinner first.” Steve put as much of Captain America into his voice as he could with his chest aching. Thor and Natasha stopped arguing immediately, though Natasha stood and stalked away from Thor. Steve stared them both down while Clint shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “We’ll eat dinner first. Then we’ll make a plan.”

            Dinner was quiet. Natasha and Clint ate normally, their feet twined together beneath the table, but Thor, who usually ate most of the food Bruce cooked, picked at his bread and stew. Steve pushed his food around his plate. _Stop playing, Steven. I can tell whether you’re eating or not, you know._ Steve could just barely remember the feeling of Mama’s fingers tousling his hair. He didn’t remember her voice at all, just her words.

            After half an hour, Steve gave up. Thor’s eyes were fixed on the television again. “You’ve got an angel with you,” Coach Knox told the pitcher. Steve slid Thor’s full plate away from him. Thor didn’t protest a bit. Steve hated to throw away so much good food, but he knew none of them would be eating again that night. He saved what he could in Tupperware containers, stacking them in the fridge between last night’s curry and a six-pack of Budweiser.

            “No way that coach would really adopt those kids,” Clint grumbled. “Not when they’re that old and they’ve given him that much shit.”

            “If he truly loves—” Thor paused and looked down at his hands. “Never mind.”

            Steve had never heard Thor say “never mind” before.

            “Let’s give Bruce and Tony until tonight. If they aren’t down here by midnight, we’ll check on them.” Steve looked over everyone: Natasha, barely moving; Thor, shoulders slumped; Clint, dismantling the remote. “As a team. Okay?”

            “Who else has tried? Just out of curiosity.” Clint pried the back off of the remote and tossed it across the den.

            Steve’s chest squeezed tight. It took him a minute to force out, “What?”

            “Other than Bruce.” Clint pulled a battery out of the remote. “Who else here has tried?”

            Thor shook his head. “Friend Clint.”

            “Other than me?”

            A plate slipped from Steve’s hands and clattered into the sink. He closed his eyes and tried his damndest to breathe. “What? No. When?” Clint couldn’t mean—he didn’t mean—God. Steve hadn’t thought…God. Not Clint. Not Clint, too.

            “None of your goddamn business,” Clint said roughly. “When do you think? Did you really think I just picked myself up and went on my merry way after Loki? Have you ever tried putting yourself back together after you’ve been unmade?”

            “I didn’t—Clint, if I’d known, I would have—I—”

            “Would’ve what? Put me off-duty, made me go through psych eval? No thank you.”

            When Natasha spoke, her voice was soft. “He has me. That’s good enough. Like Bruce and Tony.”

            “Yeah. Wait, what? Tony? As in he….”

            Steve’s chest tightened and didn’t let up. His eyes watered. He gripped the sink with shaking hands. Howard’s son—no, Steve’s friend—a cocky asshole, but a good man, a guy who’d lay himself on the line—the one of them who could understand Bruce, the one who’d brought them all together—

            “Fuck,” Clint spat. “You sure?”

            Natasha made an impatient sound. “He suffers from anxiety attacks and custom-makes his own weapons. It’s a logical conclusion.”

            Steve didn’t open his eyes. All of his concentration was focused on breathing—in, out, in, out. His lungs burned. He’d forgotten this kind of pain. When a callused hand touched the back of his neck, Steve choked out, “Bucky,” full well knowing it wasn’t him.

            “Steve.” Thor’s voice was incredibly gentle, nothing like the thunder god Steve fought beside in battles. Steve let Thor support him for a moment while he struggled to catch his breath. Once his chest muscles loosened slightly, he rubbed a hand across his face and stood on his own. Thor gave him a wide-eyed, nearly frightened look. “You also?”  
            “No. God, no, not me. God. Clint.”

            Clint looked at Steve with hard eyes. “Yeah?”

            “I—I’m sorry. Dammit. I know that doesn’t help. I—” _Why didn’t you tell us before?_ Steve wondered. Then he wondered, _what good would it have done?_ “We’ll need your help more than anyone’s. Checking on Bruce and Tony, I mean. I don’t…” Steve shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know how to handle this. I can guess, but guessing isn’t enough.”

            Clint snorted. “And you think I know? Like I get some kind of magic knowledge because….”

            “Let’s just go.” Natasha grabbed Clint’s hand, then reached across the counter for Thor’s. Thor took her hand after a moment of surprised hesitation. To Steve’s relief, Thor didn’t reach for his hand. They did walk shoulder to shoulder to the elevator.

            They rode upstairs in silence. If they were pressed closer together than they usually would be, no one mentioned it. Halfway to the lab, JARVIS spoke, voice muted. _“It may interest you that Sir and Dr. Banner are on Sir’s private floor.”_

“Shit.” Clint hit the stop button, then pressed the button for the correct floor. “Thanks.”

            _“Of course, Agent Barton. I do not believe them to be in immediate danger, but I have unlocked the entire floor for you just in case.”_

Before he met Tony, Steve hadn’t realized that computers could feel any kind of emotion. Now, he recognized the fear in JARVIS’ mechanized voice immediately. “We’ll take care of them.”

            _“Thank you, Captain Rogers.”_


	3. understand dependence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you’re trying to comfort me, don’t break my glasses.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW same as rest of work.

            In the year he’d lived at Stark—no, Avengers—Tower, Steve had never been on Tony’s floor. They had private floors for a reason. While living together was practical, even fun, like having a family, they each needed personal space. Tony’s floor was off-limits.

            When the elevator door opened, Steve was surprised by how dark the floor was. He could only make out a path through the maze of rooms by a series of lights along the floor. “Like an airplane runway,” Clint pointed out in a low voice. Steve nodded.

            _“The bedroom is straight back.”_ JARVIS’ voice was as quiet as it got. Natasha and Clint walked on silent feet. Steve and Thor were louder. Thor probably couldn’t be quiet, no matter what he tried, and Steve didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to startle Bruce and Tony. It wouldn’t be fair to sneak up on them in their own territory.

            Steve wasn’t sure what he expected to see when he pushed open the door to Tony’s room. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t Tony with his face pressed against Bruce’s shoulder, clinging to him, his fingers clutching at his shirt. It wasn’t Bruce with his mouth resting against Tony’s head in not quite a kiss.

            Bruce flinched when he saw the team at the door. His muscles tightened. Steve wanted to step back, give him space, but Clint shouldered past him. “Mind if I sit?”

Bruce shrugged. “It’s not my bed.”

            “Go fuck yourself, Barton,” Tony snapped. His hands spasmed against Bruce’s shirt.

            “Nah.” Clint sat beside Bruce. “I think I’ll sit.”

            “Not a fucking pity party. Don’t need your—” Tony bit his lip hard enough that it bled. “Goddammit.”

That was enough for Steve to crouch beside him and rest a hand on his back, another on Bruce’s knee. He didn’t let go, not even when Tony jerked away. The last time he’d let go of someone…well. Steve didn’t want to think of the biting cold of the Alps right now, of the sound the wind made as a train rushed by. Bruce had reacted well to human contact when Steve helped him months ago. Sure enough, now he relaxed just slightly. “Bruce, I want to apologize. And to explain.”

            Bruce hesitated. A nerve in his jaw jumped. Finally, he nodded. One of his hands came up to brush over Tony’s hair.

            “I apologize as well.” Thor, gaze earnest, sat on the floor in front of Bruce. “We did not hide anything from you because we thought you weak. You have been strong for a long time. Longer than…some.” He looked away briefly. Steve wondered whether he was talking about the people they’d heard about on television or someone closer to home. Loki, he thought. Everything came back to Loki.

            “Not because we’re afraid of you, either,” Natasha added.

            Bruce snorted. “But you are.”

            Natasha’s brow furrowed. “Yes,” she admitted. “I don’t think I ever won’t be. Fear comes naturally to me. You of all people should understand that. That doesn’t mean it constantly motivates my actions.”

            “We care about you.” Steve’s voice cracked, something it hadn’t done since before the serum, when his asthma was terrible. He took a shaking breath. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. “We’re a team. Your team.”

            “Not a time bomb?” Bruce asked wryly.

            “We haven’t gone off yet. We won’t leave. We’ll leave the room if you ask,” Steve amended, “but we won’t leave you. I don’t understand everything you feel. I can’t imagine…God, Bruce.” Thor made a sound of agreement and squeezed Bruce’s arm. Bruce watched him warily. “But I’m here. Always. Same with the others. Tony especially.” Steve patted Tony’s back. He was rewarded with a mumbled “damn straight!”

            Bruce gave Tony a faint smile. “I know that. I guess. I mean—logically, I know that you’re here. It’s hard not to. I cook three meals a day for you.”

            “Five,” Thor said. Clint choked on a laugh.

            “And you’ve been here before when I—in January, when—” Bruce took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My meltdown. You…thank you. All of you. I don’t know if I’ve said that before. You helped me then. I don’t know that I could have helped myself. No, that’s not right. I couldn’t have helped myself. I was…pretty far gone,” Bruce admitted. Tony lifted his head, mouth a tight line. “But it’s not—it’s—it’s inside of me. This…compulsion. You understand that, right? It would be there even if the—the Other Guy weren’t. It’s always been there for as long as I can remember.” Bruce pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It won’t go away. You can’t always fight it for me.”

            “Not for me, either.” Clint shrugged. “That’s okay. One day at a time, right?”

            “I guess. Yes. Right now, yes.” Bruce sighed. Tony made a strangled sound. Bruce knocked elbows with him. “I’m still here, right? I made it through January.”

            “You’re all here,” Natasha pointed out.

            “Thank God,” Steve said. Tony scoffed. He was probably ready to start a fight about God’s existence when Thor reached out and grabbed his shoulders. Tony and Thor stared each other down. Then Thor launched forward and pulled all of them into a bone-crushing hug.       They fell backward on Tony’s bed like that, one big pile of tangled limbs. Tony’s elbow ended up in Steve’s stomach, and Steve was pretty sure he accidentally kicked someone. Clint grunted, and Tony yelped. Steve’s heart pounded. He coughed into Tony’s shoulder.

“Shit,” Bruce mumbled. “Guys, my glasses. If you’re trying to comfort me, don’t break my glasses.”

            Clint laughed hysterically. After a moment, Bruce joined in.


	4. live my life as it's meant to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve would just have to be content with “not yet” for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special TW for Steve refusing to believe he's having an anxiety attack.

           Soon, they were all laughing. Steve’s chest cramped. Beneath him, Tony shook. Thor’s hand dug into his side. Steve took a burning breath. His exhale came out in a rumbling cough. He tried to stifle the sound. That only made him cough harder. “Fuck,” Tony rasped. “Fuck you, Rogers, you are such a mess. Get off of me.” He shoved at Steve’s shoulders.

            “Speak for yourself, Stark.” Steve struggled to sit up. Thor kept putting weight on him from behind, so he pushed his chest. “Give me a little room. Just move a little to the left—move—thanks.” Thor let go just enough for everyone to spread out on the bed. The air was so close.

            “We’re all a mess.” Bruce’s hand came around to rest on the back of Steve’s neck. His skin was warm and dry, not clammy like that day in January when Steve thought the doctor would fall apart. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, just my asthma acting up.”

“Um, hate to break it to you, Capsicle, but there’s no way you still have asthma. Not after Erskine’s serum.” Tony leaned away from Bruce just enough to get a good look at Steve. When he did, he frowned. “Hey, Steve. You okay? Bruce, what do you think?”

            “I’m fine,” Steve protested. It came out as a wheeze.

            Bruce frowned. “C’mere,” Tony said. He grabbed Steve by the back of his neck and pulled him down until their foreheads rested together. Steve tried to move away, but Tony held him tight. “Okay, now close your eyes.”

            “Why? Let go of me, Stark.”

            “Listen, I know following’s not your forte, but listen to me. Close your eyes, and do as I say. I promise I won’t steal your virginity. Go on, close ‘em.”

            Steve glanced between Tony and Bruce. When Bruce nodded, he closed his eyes reluctantly. “There you go,” Tony said. “Now breathe when I breathe.”

            Steve tried his best to follow Tony’s breathing. It was so slow that it hurt his chest more. His eyes burned. Another hand joined Tony’s on the back of his neck; then three hands, one heavy, two lighter, rested against his back. Steve’s ribs felt like they were popping. He bit his lip to keep from making a sound.

            “Shh.” Bruce brushed his fingers through Steve’s hair. Mama would have been gentle like that, years ago. Steve’s breathing hitched, evened out, hitched again. Finally, he managed to breathe in the same rhythm as Tony. When he did, he realized that everyone else breathed in the same rhythm, too. It was strange and calming all at once.

            Steve’s chest still ached, but he could finally take a deep breath without his head spinning. He opened his eyes. Tony raised an eyebrow at him. “Better?”

            “Yeah.” Steve wiped his face impatiently. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—I don’t know what that was.”

“It’s okay. We’re the last people to judge you.” Bruce smiled wryly. Natasha and Clint leaned against him, eyes closed, fast asleep. Thor stayed on the edge, back straight, eyes keen. It took Steve a moment to realize he was standing guard.

            “But this was supposed to be—” Steve stopped himself from saying “about you.” “I came here to take care of you, not the other way around.”

            “We’re taking care of each other. Right? You like that kind of stuff. Teamwork.” Tony shrugged. “Just—don’t act like I’m a delicate petal.”

            “I don’t have to act like it. I know it.” Steve smiled. “Starks are always delicate petals.”

            Tony spluttered. Bruce grinned. Clint woke up just long enough to laugh. Steve’s chest still hurt from his asthma attack—not asthma. Whatever it was. Thousands of people were still dead. But none of them were Bruce or Tony or Clint, not yet. Not yet, thank God. Steve would have to be content with “not yet” for now.

**Author's Note:**

> US suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> UK hotline: 08457 90 90 90
> 
> Bruce, Tony, and Clint aren't alone. You shouldn't have to be, either.


End file.
